


January

by ottermo



Series: Fandot Creativity [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills for the one-year anniversary edition of Fandot Creativity Night! So far: Douglas is the king of balance, Arthur finds a hiding place, someone is careless with their books, Snoopadoop has an adventure, and my inane rhyming verse makes a reappearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Celebration

In the end, they find themselves on a corner table, the four of them – Herc and Douglas rather dashing in their tuxedos, Carolyn trying not to show how unpleasant she’s finding ‘This Damned Dress’, and Arthur, rather unkempt by now, but still looking smarter than usual in his new blue suit. (He had been offered one to match the other ushers. But this one had the more appealing quality of being ‘brilliant’.) European aristocrats mill around the ballroom, duchesses twirling on the arms of dukes, governors and lords and ladies having quiet conversations over champagne. A string quartet plays, refined and elegant. Martin’s family are here somewhere, of course, and Carolyn wonders if they also feel out of place, as though they’re looking at the scene through a television, or a pair of binoculars. It is…fine. Pleasant. But it isn’t happening to her. 

“I bet I can balance this on my he– oh, no, I can’t.” 

The sound of Arthur’s glass falling onto the table jolts Carolyn from her reverie. She turns to find Douglas accepting the challenge with a smirk, effortlessly balancing his on top of his greying hair. “Please,” Carolyn says. “You look ridiculous.”

Douglas chuckles. “Carolyn. Look around. No-one is paying the slightest bit of attention to us.” He removes the glass, even so. “Told you, Arthur. It’s all about the way you hold your head.” 

Arthur continues to attempt, never managing to hold the dainty glass in place for more than a couple of seconds. On his seventh attempt, his eyes light up, and the glass goes flying (and, alas, smashing) as he exclaims, “Martin!”

The groom comes towards them, still self-conscious in his morning suit, but grinning. “There you are.”

“Were you looking for us?”

“Of course.” Martin scratches at the back of his neck. “Stuffy in here, isn’t it.”

It isn’t, particularly, but the occupants of the table understand his meaning. They follow him onto the balcony, which is lit with tiny, sparkling lights that extend the starry sky right to their fingertips. Martin and Theresa have chosen a wonderful night to get married on, Carolyn reflects. If the choice was theirs at all. 

“It’s a BRILLIANT wedding, Martin,” Arthur enthuses, standing as close to Martin as it is possible for a person to stand. 

“Thank you,” Martin muses. “And thank you all, for coming. It’s…it wouldn’t have been the same.”

Silently, the five of them stare into the night. There are some blue lights gleaming between the stars, flashing as they go – an aeroplane. “Mexico,” Douglas guesses. “I’ll bet you anything.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Martin says, for what must be the thousandth time. He chuckles. So does Douglas. Arthur points out what he’s absolutely sure is definitely a shooting star, which meets with some protest. 

“I’m making a wish anyway,” he proclaims. 

Just the five of them and the stars. This, Carolyn thinks, is the seal on the night, makes it _feel_ like a celebration. 


	2. Inside the Cupboard

She wouldn’t cry – he’d consider it a victory, anyway, and one he hadn’t scored – but she couldn’t cry, not when Arthur might see, not when Arthur might _hear_. Hearing was worse, she’d always found. The sounds misery makes are not music, not even to five-year-old ears. 

She left Gordon in the kitchen, staring sullenly at the walls. Let him clean up what was broken, or else cut his feet – she had finished caring for the moment. “Arthur?” 

There was no reply from her son’s bedroom, no curled-up figure on the bed when she went in to check. Carolyn sighed. She stepped back onto the landing, and knocked gently on the door of the airing cupboard. It was ceiling-height, broad, ideal for concealment. “Arthur, sweetheart. All finished now.” She cleared her throat, reminded herself that hearing was worse, that he mustn’t hear her upset. “You can come out.” 

There was a shuffling sound from inside, but that was all. Carolyn tapped again, then opened the door, just a crack. From amongst the folded sheets and towels she could see the outline of Arthur’s face. 

“I’m sorry we were shouting,” she murmured. “ _Two_ bedtime stories, will that make up for it?”

There was a pause. Then, “Green Eggs and Ham?” came a little voice. “Twice?”

“Well, I rather meant two different–” she realised the futility of continuing the sentence. “Yes, of course. If that’s what you’d like.” 

She opened the cupboard door wider, saw he was scrunched up in one corner, a space cleared next to him. He patted it. 

Despite herself, despite the last forty minutes and the echoes of them that still rang in her ears, Carolyn laughed. A breathless sound, as though it was her first go at it. “I can try,” she said. She crawled in next to her little boy, knees up to her chin when she managed to get there, not in the least comfortable, but - there was something in being enclosed. In being contained, when Gordon seemed so bent on shipwreck. 

She managed to shift enough to wrap one arm around Arthur’s shoulders, though pulling him closer was neither necessary nor possible inside the cupboard. It was a good thing she rarely remembered to store anything here, beyond the spare sheets and the oldest towels. 

“One day I’ll be too big for in here,” Arthur observed. “Where will I go, then?”

Carolyn stared into the shaft of light where the door had not quite closed on them. “We’ll find somewhere. Don’t you worry.” 

It would be the two of them, she felt sure. If not a cupboard, then a continent, somewhere far from… somewhere far, anyway, but always, _always_ together. 


	3. The Fantastic #1

“Right. Which of you was it.”

Herc, Douglas and Martin turned blank faces in Carolyn’s direction. “Which of us was what?” Douglas asked, all innocent. 

“You _know_ what.”

“We honestly don’t,” Herc said, mildly. 

“One of you knows full well, and they’re to put it right at the earliest opportunity. It’s too bizarre. I’m all for change, but this is just distracting.” 

“ _What_ is?” Martin asked, frustrated.

Arthur chose that moment to enter the portakabin, and Carolyn gestured in his direction. “Observe.”

“Hello, chaps!” their steward said brightly. “Fantastic morning, isn’t it?” 

“ _Fantastic_?” Douglas echoed, eyebrows raised.

“Splendid! Magnificent. The absolute number one!” 

“You see?” Carolyn asked the room of bemused faces. “Isn’t it unsettling?”

“Where are we flying to today, Skip?”

“Calais.”

“Spectacular!” 

It was unnatural. Martin actually shivered. 

“And so my question stands,” Carolyn said sternly. “Which of you chumps left that  _thesaurus_ in my galley?”


	4. Boots

All Martin had been able to understand from Arthur’s phonecall were the words _Snoopadoop_ and _boots_ and _lost_ , and something that sounded worryingly close to a sniffle. He’d been round to Casa Knapp-Shappey in minutes, to find a frantic Arthur standing on the front lawn, calling Snoopadoop’s name into the otherwise-quiet street.

“She’s gone, Skip,” Arthur said, miserably, on seeing Martin approach. “She’s run away. And it’s my fault.”

“What happened?” Martin asked, perturbed by the sight of Arthur in a mode other than ‘Cheery’. 

“She got hold of one of mum’s boots, you know, the nice, new ones Herc got her that she pretends aren’t her favourites. And I shouted at Snoopadoop to put it down but she wouldn’t, and she was getting tooth marks all over it, and so I shouted some more…and the door was open. She ran away.” 

“Well, don’t worry. We’ll find her,” Martin said, with more confidence than he really felt. He didn’t know a thing about dogs, runaway or otherwise, beyond the fact that they occasionally helped ten men mow a meadow. “Where’s your car?” he asked, gazing blankly at the half-empty driveway.

“It’s having its MOT,” Arthur said. “And I’m not allowed to drive mum’s. That’s why—”

“—that’s why you phoned me. All right. In the van, then. You keep a lookout, and tell me where you usually walk her. She’s probably gone somewhere she knows.” 

Later, Arthur’s face still buried in Snoopadoop’s fur as they drove home, Martin remarked, “You know, Douglas has a car.” 

“I know,” Arthur answered. “And he’s good at fixing things. I don’t know, Skip. I was already on the phone to you before I knew what I was doing. Do you know what I mean?”

Martin smiled. “I think I do.”


	5. You'll Be Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory poem entry because REASONS

The alphabet finishes, everything ends,  
And you’ll say goodbye to your aeroplane friends.  
Oh, but just for a while. Maybe just for a day.  
For soon you’ll be back, you’ll be starting with ‘A’.

You can try to forget them, just give it a go--  
But you’ll see there’s no way to get over this show.  
When you next see a lemon, an otter or sheep,  
You’ll be back - you’ll be humming the tune in your sleep.

You’re Fandot for life now. There’s no going back.  
You’re part of our crew, our Amigo-wolf pack.  
So join us in chanting the mantra we share:  
Yes, thank you for flying with MJN Air.  


End file.
